


Now you're just somebody that I used to know

by Emilys_List



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, M/M, Memories, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduardo erases Mark from his memory. It’s not as easy as he thinks it is. (Eternal Sunshine AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now you're just somebody that I used to know

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Now you're just somebody that I used to know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239865) by [noreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noreen/pseuds/noreen)



> Warnings: Overuse of legal and illegal substances
> 
> Disclaimer: Things I borrowed: ideas/concepts from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and plot/characters/everything The Social Network. Things I own: zero. Don’t sue, it would not be cool.
> 
> For the [socialbigbang](http://thesocialbbang.livejournal.com)
> 
> [Fanart](http://savetomorrow.livejournal.com/21524.html) by [savetomorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/savetomorrow)  
> [Fanart](http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/697503.html) by [thisissirius](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius)  
> [Fanvid](http://jumpercut.livejournal.com/7264.html) by [elipie](http://elipie.livejournal.com)

He gets ready for bed at 8:30, hours before normal, putting on pajamas he bought yesterday, staring at the lone pill in the bottle. What it represents is massive, the beginning of the end.

He can’t even think about what’s about to happen because he’s anticipating the result: the freedom, the release. He can’t take that pill fast enough, gulping it down dry.

On bare feet he moves to the window and looks out on the dark and swirling East River. In a moment or two, his vision blurs and he feels woozy, panicky, and he moves towards the bedroom, stumbling over his coffee table. He finds himself on his back, paralysis leaking through his limbs. He stares at the ceiling.

So this is how it works. Hope it takes.

[He opens his eyes.

This is the weirdest thing.

He is in his body but he also isn't, burdened with the feeling that he's observing himself.

He gets ready for bed at 8:30, hours before normal, putting on pajamas he bought yesterday, staring at the lone pill in the bottle. What it represents is massive, the beginning of the end.

He can’t even think about what’s about to happen because he’s anticipating the result: the freedom, the release. He can’t take that pill fast enough, gulping it down dry.

On bare feet he moves to the window and looks out on the dark and swirling East River. In a moment or two, his vision blurs and he feels woozy, panicky, and he moves towards the bedroom, stumbling over his coffee table. He finds himself on his back, paralysis leaking through his limbs. He stares at the ceiling.

So this is how it works. Hope it takes.]

[erased]

[It’s his second and final visit to the clinic, and there are two items on the agenda: record his testimonial and map his memories. He is looking forward to exactly neither of them. 

Dr. Kaufman guides him in and he tells her that he’s leaving in a few days to go on an around-the-world trip with his freshman year roommate. She says it’s a great decision, a good way to reset. She writes a brief note for him to give to his friend, Ted, and asks him to share it prior to the procedure.

She sets up and he looks over what she had written:

Dear Ted,

Eduardo has recently undergone a procedure that affects his memory and his ability to recall certain people and events. You'll notice he may seem a little confused at times for a few days, but rest assured this is normal and that he will be fine. Please be extra patient with him, and make sure he has all the information he needs while you travel together.

My contact information is on the letterhead above; please contact me with any questions.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Liz Kaufman, M.D., Ph.D

Then she’s ready and they begin.

“My name is Eduardo Saverin and I’m here to erase Mark Zuckerberg. He.” 

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, his stomach churning and his heart beating fast, and he feels like he might throw up. Is it hot in here? “I know you said this was like ripping off a Band-Aid but it feels a lot worse than that. Shit.” He takes a long drink of water from his glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He closes his eyes again, and attempts a deep breath; he is mildly successful at relaxing his anxious mind and body, and he opens his eyes - a bit clearer, and as ready to begin as he’ll ever be.

“He and I used to be best friends. We met at Harvard. I liked him right away. He was so smart and quick. We spent a lot of time together. I guess - it took me a long time to realize that I was kind of ... more invested than Mark. We were close, he was my friend. My best friend. I think what made everything harder - getting kicked out, having to sue - is that it wasn't just about Facebook.” He winces at the truth, at his truth, expressing what’s in his heart to a complete stranger, things he could never tell Mark. But he urges himself on.

“Mark - his girlfriend at the time, Erica Albright, broke up with him, and, he didn’t mean to, really, but he started a website where you could compare the attractiveness of Harvard girls. I - I gave him the algorithm that allowed him to do it. I wonder sometimes if-” He stops himself in his tracks. He wonders, sometimes, about what would be different if he hadn’t given Mark the algorithm. Would Facemash still have happened? Facebook? Would he and Mark still be friends today? The agony of what happened and the crushing ‘what ifs’ have driven him to the brink; that’s why he’s here, and that’s why he needs to make it all disappear.

“Anyway. He created the site and I gave him the start up capital. I know that I had money that Mark didn't, but it really felt like Mark wanted my help. He wanted my help specifically. So I worked on the business and Mark worked on the site. That's a very important distinction. No one was looking out for our business interests except for me.” He pauses and wonders, not for the first time, how he sounds to other people. He thinks he might sound petty and territorial, but when he asked Gretchen what she thought, she’d fixed him with a stare. ‘You sound exactly right,’ she’d said, and he still doesn’t know what that means.

He runs through the terrible misfortune of meeting Sean Parker and Mark’s hero worship, how he tried to keep tabs on Mark, and how when it no longer worked he went to Palo Alto in person. How Sean was there and how Eduardo flipped out. After, how, for a brief shining moment, Eduardo felt invincible in the wake of their angel investment - but that it didn’t last long. He takes a deep breath to relax, and it’s only now that he’s wholly unsuccessful. “What I didn’t know is that paperwork was drawn up that was going to lessen my stake in the company - to 0.03%. That’s - barely - I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just need... okay. When I found out, I flew into such a rage that I got escorted out by security. I was so upset that I barely remember it - but I know the memory is in there somewhere.”

“I went back to Harvard and graduated. That was also a blur. I moved to New York City and started a job, and partied too much, and then my suit against Mark - we were deposed together, which was unusual. I sat in a room with him for days on end. He settled. I signed a non-disclosure agreement - not that it matters, I won’t remember any of this anyway - and we haven’t spoken to or seen each other since. But I haven’t been able to get away from this.” 

Eduardo thinks back to staring out the window of that deposition room in Palo Alto, how trapped he felt, and in one sense he feels like he never left. “I can’t escape feeling horrible, it’s like everyday I am haunted by this... feeling.” He can’t elaborate because he doesn’t know how; he doesn’t have the words for the excruciating, unrelenting feeling in his bones that will not let him take a breath without feeling wronged, and hurt, and deeply wounded. He slumps a little in his chair, defeated. 

“So my friend found out about you guys, and here I am. Ready to be wiped blank.” He offers a feeble smile, and takes another drink of water to soothe his hoarse voice, rough from his long tale of woe.

Dr. Kaufman looks at him sadly, but he’s sure that’s a practiced expression; everyone’s stories must be sad.

She introduces him to Don and Sonali who will be doing the erasure. They both smile and nod, and Sonali shakes his hand. “Our pleasure, Mr. Saverin. We will see you tonight.” Careful wording, he notices; they will see him. He sighs and is as polite as he can be in return, a pinched smile on his face.

They do the mapping with a North Face fleece; his FB profile; a photo from an AEPi event; emails; Red Vines; canned tuna; Red Bull; Mountain Dew; and so many more things that make him feel queasy. He feels stupid with this helmet strapped to his head, but eventually he stops thinking about it and just feels … awful. He feels awful. He can’t wait to not remember any of this.

The screen in front of him that’s helping to generate the map starts to sizzle and go blank, and then it’s gone.]

[erased]

[He sits with Dr. Kaufman, who smiles gently at him as he answers her question, “What brings you here, Mr. Saverin?”

He’s not entirely sure, truth be told, and he tells her this. “A friend, who knows that things have been - tough for me, heard about you guys. He recommended this, but - you know - I just can’t believe this is an actual real thing and not some scam-”

“Mr. Saverin,” she interrupts, “I don’t want you to waste your time, or mine. Our procedure is safe and effective, and I think you do believe that it works, otherwise why would you be here?” She says this like she’s said this a million times before, and he assumes that number isn’t too far off the mark. She appraises him. “You have been through great trauma, enough to want to seek a memory-altering procedure. What happened to you, Mr. Saverin?”

They settled a few months ago, and the non-disclosure agreement has been in place just long enough for him to get used to it. He rocks his head side to side on its axis, slowly, like he’s working out kinks, until she reaches out a hand, placing it on his. 

“This is a confidential conversation, Mr. Saverin. I’m a doctor.”

He suppresses the urge to ask to see her diploma. Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “I haven’t been sleeping well. Or, at all. On a good night I sleep a little. On a great night I just sleep poorly. And I’m trying to function, and go to work, and see friends, but mainly I am in a daze because I’m just so tired.” He shifts in his seat, his stomach starting to tense. “Everything is finally - resolved - but I don’t feel resolved.” Tears threaten the corners of his eyes and he gulps, hard. “I feel like I’m still in the Facebook office, in that deposition room, in that shitty house in Palo Alto, and I just need - something. I need to be free.”

Dr. Kaufman looks like she’s been trying to follow along. She nods. “I don’t know the details but it sounds like you might really benefit from what we can do here.” She takes out a small notebook from her lab coat pocket. “Let’s start from the beginning. The basics. Who do you want to erase?”

He takes her to the beginning, the basics, just like she asks - Mark, Facebook, the settlement. When he’s done with the overview of his life, he frowns. He didn’t expect that unloading in this way would make him feel better, but he didn’t anticipate that it would make him feel worse. He tells her this as he tries to relax his body but finds he cannot.

Dr. Kaufman smiles kindly. “You know, Mr. Saverin, you’re taking a big step by coming here. And you will feel better - soon. I promise.”

She is very reassuring as she takes him through the steps. The procedure has improved upon its former iterations, in that it has gotten more exact. For instance, she says, he can keep his memories of Harvard, Facebook, and Mark, to some extent. They will remove specific memories, of course, but the feelings associated with them will be dulled. "When you eradicate the emotional core of a memory, you take away its power and sting," Dr. Kaufman says. That sounds great to him; that sounds like the ideal.

She wraps up the scenario for him: "You'll know that you and Mark went to Harvard together, that you were somehow involved with the founding of Facebook, and that you are a shareholder, but that's where it will end." 

The world around him starts fading out, and he's agreeing to the procedure with a handshake.]

[erased]

[He's waiting for someone - Ryan? He has to check his phone. Ryan. Whose profile photo of his uncut cock prompted Eduardo to message him, but he can’t hold on to his name to save his life. Ryan with the silver hair, who’s a lawyer, who will help him be numb for a few hours, even though he doesn’t know it. He puts his phone away and when he's done he catches someone's eye, who he soon, regretfully, realizes is Chris.

"Eduardo! Hey! What are you doing here?" Chris is pulling off a major feat - looking happy to see him and yet unsurprised to see him here. 

Eduardo gulps, feeling naked. "Chris! Hi! I-" He searches for an excuse, an out. But this is an out, literally, and it's clear to Chris, Eduardo can see it on his face. "I'm here," he says.

Kindness is etched into Chris's face as he says, "I can see that. First time?"

After some hesitation, Eduardo shakes his head no. "What are you doing in New York? I thought you were working for Obama?" Chris looks at him funny, a 'how do you know that?' look, and Eduardo shrugs. He doesn't post anything on Facebook but he still likes to peruse; it's his again. 

"I'm visiting my boyfriend - well - I guess right now I'm waiting for my boyfriend." Chris smiles, looking exquisitely happy to even say the word ‘boyfriend.’ “He's working late. I fly back to Chicago day after tomorrow." He pats Eduardo's arm. "It's so good to see you, Wardo."

Eduardo flinches. It's been awhile since he's heard that nickname. It feels like another self, and his initial reaction to Chris shifts and changes. As happy as he is to see him, he represents a lot of conflict, a lot of strife, and all that's been bad about his recent life. 

Chris appraises him carefully, like he knows something has just shifted. He sighs. "I know, I know this is weird. But I'm not there anymore, and you're back on the - and you won. Like you should have, even Mark can admit it."

Eduardo raises his head. "Has he?"

Chris shakes his head. "Eduardo, your problem is that you put too much stock in everything he does and says. He's just - I mean, I understand how you felt - but he's just a guy. A fallible, oblivious - guy," he says witheringly, like it's the worst thing someone could be. "Anyway. Are you - okay? Better?"

"I'm terrible," is out of Eduardo's mouth before he knows it, and Chris is hugging him tight. It's actually kind of nice. 

Copious amounts of cocktails are had, and by the end Chris's Sean is there, Eduardo's date is not, and he's a blotto mess. "I just can't shake it," he says to Sean's handsome face. "Nothing feels concluded. I feel - I feel like an open, gaping wound. Stitches can't keep me closed. Nothing can help." He slumps on the table, his chin resting on his folded arms, feeling numb and worse for wear, the beginnings of a hangover already forming.

They're saying their goodbyes outside and Chris looks like he's absorbed all the shit that Eduardo dumped on his plate, but Eduardo’s too fucked up to care. While Sean hails a cab, Chris says, "So you know I was an English major. I was doing research for a paper on that poem, ‘Eloisa to Abelard’ by Pope - it’s that one about separated lovers and there’s, like, this whole thing about how it’s just easier to forget. How does it - ‘How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!’  
But I stumbled upon the weirdest thing. There's a company that can erase a person or event from your memory. It seems legitimate. Lacuna. That's what it's called." He gives Eduardo a pointed look before Sean announces that he's flagged a cab for Eduardo.

They push him into a cab and wave goodbye, Sean’s arm around Chris. He smiles as the cab begins to hurdle down Ninth Avenue, towards the never ending darkness, and then-]

[erased]

[He can't understand why they need to be in person to sign this paperwork, isn't this the digital age? But he goes back to Palo Alto and sits with Mark and their respective squadrons of lawyers, and he signs paperwork that says in exchange for his silence, he will get $600 million. Mark scowls the whole time, looking petulant and unattractive, and Eduardo feels so good to sign and initial Mark out of his life.

Gretchen takes him out to dinner and she's lighter than during the depositions. She smiles.

Eduardo smiles too, but it’s mostly fake, a Smiling Eduardo mask. He’s supposed to be thrilled. He has everything he wanted: his name on the masthead, money in the bank, shares to his name - all rightfully returned. Plus, he doesn’t have to see Mark’s stupid face ever again.

But that’s not true. He can’t avoid him; Facebook is too ubiquitous in Eduardo’s world. Besides, he can’t forgive, forget, or let go. He’s not built that way. What he wants is for things to be radically different, and that’s not something easily accomplished.

The waiter comes over and he orders another whiskey and then the light changes, everyone is gone, and then the light changes again, everything looks overexposed, and-]

[erased]

[When he arrives home from Palo Alto, he goes for a cleansing run along the river, miles and miles until he’s exhausted. He takes a break and emails the cute guy he’s been talking to on Manhunt.

Gretchen doesn’t say it’s a lock, but she is very confident that Mark will settle. He wishes... he wishes he could just win outright, no compromises, no silence, but Gretchen says, very gently, that it doesn’t work that way. Still, he wishes.

James is waiting for him at Morimoto when he arrives on time, and Eduardo likes that right away. They settle in with sake and James tells him about divinity school, and being the head of the feminist student caucus. Eduardo doesn’t really understand any of it, or the intersection of it, but he understands and respects passion and intellect, so he listens closely and asks good questions. James is very different from the men he’s been hooking up with recently - first of all, he’s on a date. James is tall, muscular but not ripped, with dark skin and a hipster wardrobe and a penchant for eye contact.

James smiles easily and says, “So what do you do, Eduardo? I know it’s something in hedge funds? But that’s kind of out of my wheelhouse. I don’t think it has anything to do with hedges.”

James has said something really very cute, and normally Eduardo would be flirting in return and enjoying his evening, but his stomach sinks. Sean Parker, with a thin woman with plump lips in tow, enters his line of vision. Sean has a big smile on his stupid, punchable face. 

“Eduardo Saverin,” Sean says, like they’re old friends.

Eduardo says nothing in return.

Sean nods once, sharply, and turns his smile to James. “I’m Sean Parker, this is Alex.”

“James,” James says, shaking Sean’s hand. “How do you know Eduardo?”

Sean fixes his gaze on Eduardo. “He and I go way back. A mutual friend. Who I’m sure would say hi, by the way, if he was here.”

Eduardo shakes his head. “Don’t do this. Just go.”

Sean puts up his hands, as if in surrender, but that’s not real because Sean Parker doesn’t back off, ever. “Well, it was nice to meet you James, and good to see you, Eduardo. Hope the settlement is good to you.” He smiles tightly now, all pinched muscles and brutal angles, and leaves, his clueless date behind him.

Eduardo’s own clueless date looks at them leave and shakes his head. “What the fuck was with that mean girl ambush?”

It makes him laugh. That’s enough to get them through dinner and back to Eduardo’s place (“Eduardo, my place is a shitbox, it’s in the part of Chelsea that is not actually cool or gay, just near a highway”), where James marvels at the view and they split a bottle of wine. It starts with kissing, light, like an experiment, and then James is pushing his tongue into Eduardo’s mouth. Eduardo presses James down into the couch, flat, and sneaks one hand up James’s shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. When they pull apart, a little breathless, Eduardo opens his mouth.

He wants to stop them, because this could really be something - religious differences notwithstanding - but he can’t help but lean back into James’s kiss, to undress them, to get them into bed. He wants there to be more, he wants to be better, he wants to shed Mark and everything else that crowds him and makes him a little less of who he really is, who he can potentially become. But he can’t stop them, because what he really wants in the here and now trumps anything else that winds through his mind.

They have good sex. Not perfect, but good, and he’ll take good first-time sex over none at all.

James leaves early in the morning, a rushed kiss to Eduardo’s temple, “I have to be in class in twenty minutes, shit.” He says he’ll email soon, and Eduardo hears the door’s slam.

James emails the same day that Eduardo receives an email from Gretchen. 

Sorry I had to jet the other day, but I was presenting and needed a little prep time. Totally bombed it, though, because I was distracted by you.

Have you been to The Cloisters? It's constructed from pieces of actual medieval cloisters. Yawn fest? I really love it up there. Beautiful art and a great view. It would be excellence second date material. Let me know.

The email from Gretchen is much shorter:

Eduardo: the number is looking good as is the rest of the package. Call me back ASAP.

In his race to the phone, he completely forgets about James’ email.]

[erased]

[As bad as it was to be deposed in the Winklevosses' suit, it is much worse to relive his time with Mark. The hurt, the betrayal, never knowing where he stood - it is excruciating to hash it all out again.

He can't believe the detail. Like, he can't believe they're talking about the chicken, Howard. Nobody asked for his name, but it was Howard and he went to a farm after where they take really good care of the chickens before they're, well, food.

He’s surprised to learn new things, too, like how callous Mark was to Erica when she broke up with him. She wasn’t the picture of civility - a part of his heart tenses to think of Mark left at a bar, embarrassed and the recipient of the ‘asshole’ label, even if he had bestowed it upon him too - but Mark was not so kind either. He thinks about the night as it became myth, he’d never bothered to ask much about their break up. It’s almost funny now to think about it, that he just accepted whatever Mark said as complete and gospel truth.

He hears the blankness in Mark's voice that sometimes sounds like nothing, like numbness. Other times his dull tone sounds like it’s barely masking a bubbling, rupturing anger. And, other times, Eduardo hears that voice that sounds like all the things that he wanted and needed to hear. No matter what he’s hearing, he feels flayed open, jaggedly ripped apart, like nothing could put him back together. 

This is the last time they hear each other speak.

With breath as labored and strained as when it actually happened, he’s telling everyone in the room how much his shares were reduced, as everything seems to melt away in front of his eyes.]

[erased]

[He takes the train to Hartford to be deposed in the Winklevoss-Narendra suit against Mark. And he's nervous to see Mark again; the last time he saw him, he broke Mark’s laptop and screamed in his face. Not his finest hour. Perhaps his worst - the worst he’s felt so far in his life. Seeing Mark in the flesh will be a reminder that their deposition is not far off, and while he’s thrilled they’re finally on deck, the thought of actually hashing this out again and in front of Mark will not be his favorite past time.

He sits up extra straight in his chair, trying his best to be a good and helpful witness, and somehow finds himself defending Mark - because he swore an oath. Even if he helps Mark’s case, even if he doesn’t want to, the truth must be told. After all, he too is suing Mark. If the truth is cheap and not worth anything outside of their case, then it weakens everything inside of it. And he’s worked too hard, he won’t let that happen.

He tries to ignore the way Mark is giving little nods and smiling as Eduardo speaks, silently agreeing, and he tries to ignore the way it makes his heart feel, full and validated. Instead, he focuses on the unsurprising way that Mark verbally berates the Winklevosses; Mark’s bread and butter is putting people in their place. When he was younger, he found that interesting, but now, looking at it as he is from the outside in, he finds Mark - silly. Childish.]

[erased]

[He has a legal team, the lawsuit has been filed, but forward motion will be slow for a while. It's fine. It's all fine. He's a Harvard grad, which is more than he can say for some people, and he easily scores a position with a hedge fund.

Sure, he works all the time, his BlackBerry is practically glued to his hand, but he likes the work, he likes the money, and he likes taking risks.

He's drinking too much. He goes out with coworkers, other junior staffers, and they eat sushi and drink too much sake. He begs off early, around 11, only to turn around and drink too much at gay bars. He doesn't know quite what propelled him that first time, but after going in and leaving with a 34-year-old lawyer named Colin, it just felt - right. Good. Or, bad in a good way.

The morning after, he rolled out of Colin’s bed at seven - he left without a word to the sleeping form next to him. In the cab rushing home, embarrassment crushed him in waves: a man. He had sex with a man. Who looked like Mark. He had sex with a man who looked like Mark.

He promises himself he won't make that mistake again, but every time he steps into another bar and makes eye contact with a stranger, he knows who he's going home with. Slim, barely muscled twinks. All with a cocky, arrogant edge, and he hates himself for it, but he also can’t stop, and, he really doesn’t want to.

At first it's exciting - being desired, feeling in control - but even that gets tedious. He feels like he could jump right out of his skin, he's just so eager for whatever's next.

Not to mention - Facebook is blowing up, and Mark is famous, like getting followed by paparazzi famous. Chris and Dustin are being called in as social media experts in what feels like every other article Eduardo is reading these days. And that fucking douchebag Sean Parker, well, he remains infamous.

He's envious. Of course he is. But he's also indignant because he's supposed to be there too.

His father writes him a terse email: 

Baixinho - Your Mãe tells me that work is going well. Good. Don’t worry if you’re spending too much time in the office. Especially given your circumstances, you need to establish yourself as a hard worker. Put in the time, there are no shortcuts. 

I have a colleague who is also working in New York. He’s much more established than you are, of course, but perhaps he is a good connection to make. I will give him your phone number (please get a landline number, having only a cell phone makes you look like a child). 

Your Mãe also mentioned that your lawsuit is in process. It seems like it is taking a long time. Are you sure you’ve hired the right lawyers? I suppose we’ll see. It’s good that you’re doing it. It probably seems terrible to someone like you, with a vulnerable soft heart, but for someone old like me, who has had life wear them down, it just looks like business.

I wish you well. Please write back.

He contemplates, just for a moment, the idea of smashing another laptop, but he shoves it roughly instead and heads outside to cool his head. He walks around in the muggy, wet New York night, his skin cool and sticky. He waits to cross 32nd Street and at the corner he squeezes his eyes shut, briefly. His father means well; he always does. But Eduardo is overtired from the life he’s living, and the irritation his father is pushing in his direction with a message like that ... Eduardo is keying in his phone before he even has a chance to think about it.

“Francisco Saverin.”

“Dad,” Eduardo says impatiently, crossing the street without direction, “It’s me. You know it’s me.”

“Eduardo, hello. Please, you know I have no use for cell phones other than to answer them when they are ringing.”

His irritation begins to flare, hotter and darker. “I got your email, Dad.” ‘Dad’ is foreign in his mouth, but it is nice and general, and feels better than ‘Pai,’ which is what his father is used to, what he expects. “I just don’t really appreciate - you know - this is a hard time for me. An email from you once in awhile chastising me for not having a landline is, like-” ‘A waste of time,’ is what he wants to say. He urges himself to say it, but he can’t. He’s already coming to his senses, clamming up, and feeling like a lunatic as he begins a long loop back to his home by way of the path along the East River. 

“Like what, Eduardo? Finish your sentence.” But he can’t, his tongue feeling too large now to let any words get past. He shakes his head even though his father cannot see him, and he takes a difficult, tempered sigh. “Eduardo, I wrote to you - Eduardo, I don’t know what you want me to say. Your company is doing very well without you, which is a problem because it is still very much your company. You need to be successful in your lawsuit. You need to be successful in your life. That’s what my email said. These are the things that matter, and you are my son. You need to know that.”

Calm, clean breaths are starting to get harder to come by, but he tries not to gulp too audibly in search of air. He feels such anger at his father and doesn’t completely understand why; his father is simply being his regular, out of touch self, and Eduardo isn’t delusional enough to think that personal crisis could make him behave any differently towards his son.

“I know, Dad,” he manages, and his father scoffs.

“‘Dad.’ What is that? Too much time in that city.” He clears his throat. “You should, you should come. To see your mother. Soon, before the high holidays.” 

Eduardo plunks down on a bench and looks out at Brooklyn skyline in the inky evening sky. “Sure. Okay.”

It’s quiet on the phone for a long time, long enough that Eduardo wonders if his father hung up. But he didn’t. “Okay,” he says softly, so gently that Eduardo barely hears it or recognizes it as his father’s voice. “Good night, Baixinho.”

Eduardo hangs up, feeling like he’d half-released what he’d been feeling in his heart, and sits outside for another hour, quiet in his thoughts.

When Gretchen calls a few days later to tell him they've scheduled the depositions, he almost cries with relief.]

[erased]

[Upon moving to New York, he goes out with a Phoenix friend to some club in the Meatpacking District that he's not cool enough to be at. He's milling about, sipping a gin and tonic, when he sees two extraordinarily tall twins sitting on an upholstered bench at the back of the room. As he approaches, they stand in unison, and look like they're going to punch him in unison, too. He puts his hands up.

"Relax, guys." Maybe he's had a couple of drinks already. "I was just coming over to say... he did the same thing to me."]

[erased]

[He graduates. None of his friends are there. Only his mother comes and he tries to pretend like that's enough. It's not.]

[erased]

[He spends the remaining half of the school year binge drinking at the Phoenix; it’s a miracle when he receives his convocation invitation.

Apart from drinking, he also spends his time actively hating Mark and avoiding Chris, who looks every time Eduardo sees him like he wants to talk at length about feelings. But Eduardo doesn't want to talk about his feelings, he wants to get fucked up and forget.

Chris corners him a party, where Eduardo is already drunk, and he looks so pleased and happy to finally get his opportunity to talk. And talk. And talk. “I just don’t want you to think that this - nobody wanted this, okay, Wardo, it just happened. I want us to be friends. You are - so - I can’t bear - and I know that Mark doesn’t want there to be-”

“I would have never done that to him,” Eduardo blurts out, his voice raw and overly emotive. “Never. The way he treated me, casting me aside-” He feels like his guts are being twisted and rung out. He shakes his head, blinking hard, trying to suppress the threatening tears. “Chris, I gotta go,” he says, and bolts.]

[erased]

[If there was any one singular thing he wanted to erase from his brain, this would be it.

He enters the new Facebook offices, excited, happy to see Mark, and completely trusting. He leaves, beyond destroyed, beyond comprehension.

Mark's face is helpless as Eduardo smashes his laptop, as he screams and tries to be heard. He knows that Mark never really hears him, but he’s listening now, and he tells him in no uncertain terms that they are through, their connection broken. 

He's escorted out and he feels like he'll never get over it.]

[erased]

[Eduardo can feel the excitement in his veins. All semester he walks around on a cloud of hope, disbelieving that he's really a major player in this thing that he will help to transform the world.

He feels untouchable.]

[erased]

[He spends the rest of the summer feeling guilty, like he's not doing enough in New York, like he's not doing his part. With Peter Thiel's angel investment, he starts talking to other VCs and with more potential advertisers. It still doesn't feel like enough. It never does.

But then there's some great press, an article in the New York Times, and his father calls to say he's proud of the work he's doing. His smile lasts for days.]

[erased]

[He goes back out to Palo Alto after being back in New York for barely a day, and heads right to the office to see the new digs and meet with their lawyers.

He tells them that Mark doesn't care about money and needs to be protected, and they nod and smile, and Eduardo is completely oblivious.

He and Mark drink beer, and Mark is in such a remarkably good and cheerful mood, to see his creation take its first real steps into the world.

"Remember the algorithm?" He asks Mark, and there's smiles all around.

It's bittersweet, because Eduardo knows now what was going on right under his nose.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks. "You could've told me. I know it wasn't your idea."

"You thought it was. You thought I was maliciously planting stories-"

"No," Eduardo corrects, "I was angry, I said the wrong thing. Like you've never done that."

Mark shrugs.

Whatever.]

[erased]

[Mark calls in the middle of a fight between Christy and Eduardo, and he tells him, "I had to get your attention, Mark," and Mark keeps yelling at him, even as Christy sets a fucking fire.

As soon as Mark tells him about the $500,000 investment, they shift. Mark’s quiet, quieter than he’s ever heard. Calmly, quietly, he says, "I need my CFO," like he's saying something else. It makes Eduardo's heart leap. He feels valued, like he matters to Mark, and he can’t imagine a better high.

He starts to feel it fade away...

"Please, let me have just this one."

[erased]

[He's unbelievably hung over, like, outstandingly, it feels like he’ll be hungover forever. But he knows what he need to do, so he sucks it up. Before heading out of Palo Alto and to SFO, he asks the driver to stop at a Bank of America. It doesn't matter what happened last night; it needs to be done.

He gets out, and with every step he thinks, ‘This is a mistake.’ With every other step he thinks, ‘Mark had this coming.’ He goes with that and the teller freezes the account after he hands over ID, the account he’d been so proud to open.

But it’s fucked now, like everything else, because of Mark and that stupid asshole Sean Parker. Eduardo climbs back into the cab and takes off towards the airport. Yesterday was a horrible shit-show of weather, but today is bright without a cloud in the sky. That’s how it works, ying and yang, but not always. He and Mark are never balanced, equal; he feels like he’s always chasing him uphill, just to try and keep up.

Like this shit with Sean setting up meetings. It is not, NOT, his place in any imaginable way, but Mark gave him no choice - like getting saddled with Sean in the first place. If Sean is unsuccessful, it will be incredibly embarrassing to have such an imbecile representing Facebook. However, if he is successful ...

Well, somehow that’s the worst-case scenario.

Sean is already Mark’s cemented hero, with no exceptions and no end in sight, and maybe - maybe that has something to do with freezing the account. He needs to get his attention.]

[erased]

[They get drunk. What else is there to do but that? He clears two beers in quick succession - and then there's shots. And then there's Sean Parker's huge fucking bong, which Eduardo refuses to touch on principle, on the fact of its owner, but then he has another shot, and Mark is shotgunning weed smoke into his mouth and, yeah, okay. That's fine. More than fine, really.

How did I forget that?

He relaxes into a deep haze, made warmer and more comfortable by the fact that Mark is half-sprawled in his lap.

“Wow, what was that?" He asks Mark.

Mark cranes his neck so he can see Eduardo behind him. "What was what?"

He gestures to his lap, where he's getting increasingly hard, and Mark shakes his head. "I don't think you should be asking me that. There are other, better questions."

He takes another hit and passes it to Eduardo, their lips meeting for the briefest of moments, and then he's drunkenly pontificating on Sean's great ideas.

Eduardo decides that's a great time to go to bed.]

[erased]

[He's at arrivals for almost an hour when what little patience he’d had left wore through. He's tired and fuming when he gets into a cab, still calling Mark every few minutes, leaving angry messages every 10.

It starts to rain once they hit the highway, so much so that everyone on the road starts to take it very, very slow. The rain pours down in solid, unabating sheets, and the distance between the cab and house is enough to soak his clothes through during his quick dash.

Sean answers the door, looking halfway between smug and caught.

When Mark appears, looking drowsy and chomping on a Red Vine, Eduardo is torn between complete frustration and the comfortable pleasure of seeing him again. He goes for what’s easiest right now - anger - and thoroughly expresses himself to try and communicate to Mark just how he’s fucked up.

He asks to talk to him alone for a minute and he slams the door behind him, because he's trying to make a point, but Mark isn't even here with him. He's so frustrated that he barely hears Mark say, "I want - I want - I need you here," but then all he can hear is, "I'm afraid if you don't come out here you're going to be left behind."

"What did you mean, get left behind?" He asks, his words overly patient and metered, coiled like a snake.

"I want - I want - I need you here."

The memory hurts when it goes.]

[erased]

[The Phoenix guys are nice, and nice to him; after all, they chose him. But he still doesn’t feel all the way comfortable around them, and he finds a convenient spot slouching against the wall with a vodka tonic in his hand at their end of the semester party. 

He had called and texted Mark earlier, and he checks his phone every few minutes to see if he’s replied - so far, nothing yet.

It is unnerving to feel left out in two different ways at the same time.]

[erased]

[He knows Mark's flight leaves that afternoon, so he heads over to Kirkland in the morning where, predictably, Mark is still asleep, none of his stuff packed.

Dustin is in full speed mode, though, "I've had so many Red Bulls, Wardo!"

He's already there, so he helps Dustin pack up his computer and he watches him basically run in circles until he thinks, 'Okay, fuck this' - but then Mark comes out of his room, in boxers and a 'I Rocked at Mark's Bar Mitzvah' t-shirt, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. The sight causes Eduardo’s breath to stick in his chest, his nearby heart beating a little faster, and he lets himself be oblivious. ‘That was weird,’ he thinks.

No, it’s not weird. You were just hot for Mark.

“Were or are?” Mark asks slyly, suddenly entirely alert.

But then Mark settles onto the couch and says gruffly, "Move, Wardo." When he doesn't comply, Mark falls asleep again, this time settled on Eduardo's shoulder. Dustin stops in front of them to make a sappy, precious face, then sticks out his tongue and keeps on moving.

Eduardo and Mark sit like that for who knows how long, but eventually he wakes Mark, gently, and this time Mark awakes, fully Mark.

Mark is finally moving and getting ready to move out, and Eduardo starts to panic, all the good feelings that had taken roost starting to fly away.

"I don't want this anymore," he says. Mark and Dustin pack and ignore him. "I don't want this," he says a little louder. He doesn't know why, but he runs out, and down the stairs, and onto the green and he shouts above him, "I want it to stop!" He runs back inside Kirkland and Mark is nowhere to be found.

"Dustin? Where's Mark?"

"Hmm? Oh, he already left for the airport."

"But he-" Eduardo starts, then stops. He sees Mark's bedroom, now completely stripped bare, as if he'd never been there at all.

Eduardo goes running back out and -]

[erased]

[This explosion of nerd culture masquerading as an internship competition is laughable, but he's so happy to see Mark so happy. Mark’s grinning. Glowing. And Eduardo can’t stop looking at him.

Everyone stays in the lab, drinking and talking excitedly, and he's glued to Mark's side. He's so excited, but not as much as Mark; it's as if Mark's elation is such that it's emanating out of him and getting soaked up by those around him.

"I want to stop this," he whispers to Mark. "I can't do this - I don't want to do it."

Mark shakes his head sadly. "It's too late. I'm already half-gone."

"I wish I hadn't. But I just couldn't - live. Move on. Anything. I thought it would be easier."

"But it's not," Mark says, tapping his shoulder against Eduardo's, and he taps back.

The room gets darker and darker until there's nothing else there.]

[erased]

[He goes to the Bank of America branch across the street from campus once he's cleared his head. He takes what Mark said to heart and opens an account because he wants to be a team player, and he wants to be supportive. After all, it's what Mark is asking of him. 

The branch representative asks what type of business this is for, and Eduardo says, “A website.” The middle-aged woman in front of him raises an eyebrow, but still keys it into the computer. She asks whose names should be on the account and he says, “My business partner and I.” He hands over the necessary documents, and as he waits his heart swells. His bright, genius business partner who’s also his best friend.

What he wants to say about Mark would overcrowd a simple computer form.]

[erased]

[He’s with Howard, who is going nuts and is making little chicken noises, and it’s kind of driving Eduardo crazy, but Mark is driving him crazier, not giving up on the goddamn Crimson article, or Sean. Goddamn Sean who can do no wrong.

”What kind of hold did he have on you?” He asks aloud as Mark goes back to Facebook to continue cheating on his final. “How did he do that? What... what didn’t I have that he did?”]

[erased]

[Mark is coding and Eduardo is studying, and when Mark’s phone rings, he tosses it to Eduardo after the second. “Get my mom off my fucking back, please, you’re good at that.” He is good at that, but it doesn’t seem like a cool thing to be good at, so he makes a big show of opening the phone, preparing to be über-nice to Dr. Zuckerberg.

Except, it’s not Dr. Zuckerberg. It’s Sean Parker and he says, “Mark, hey, Sean Parker,” so breezy and with ease, like this is a phone call he makes frequently. 

“It’s not Mark, it’s Eduardo,” is all he can say with a grimace.

“Oh, hey, Eduardo,” Sean says smoothly, not missing a beat. “How are things with you?”

He knows intrinsically that neither one of them really want to have a chat, but he was instilled with a proper sense of decorum - hanging up would be rude. “Things are great,” he says, extra bright. 

“Tell her I’m eating, tell her I’m sleeping,” Mark shoots out, continuing his work. 

“Is Mark available?” Sean asks politely. “Just wanted to check in.”

“He’s - working, Sean, he really can’t be-” Mark snatches the phone from his hand.

“Hi,” Mark says, smiling nervously, clutching his phone tight. Eduardo watches him with curiosity, especially when he laughs. “Well, it’s all work and no play now, there’s still so much to be done, and tracked.” They keep talking and talking and the lights drain from the room, and the noise begins to soften.

He’s glad when it’s gone.]

[erased]

[He’s never felt so grown up or official in his life. He writes an email to his parents saying that over spring break, he and his business partner will be in meetings all week in New York City. No laying around at home, no string of drunken parties. His father wishes him good luck, and for once, he feels like he really has it.

Until, of course, they actually get to New York and have meetings, and Mark is a walking, sulking disaster. The only time he is somewhat bearable is when he comes face-to-face with Mr. Wonderful himself, Sean Parker. 

”I hate your face,” he says to Sean and Mark laughs.

“That’s not nice.”

“Hate. Yes. I will use that strong a word if it’s how I feel. Twenty-five minutes late. Appletinis. This is how I spent one night of my formidable adult years and I’ll never get it back and what the fuck were you doing, falling for his bullshit?”

Mark shrugs. “He was accomplished. Young. Cool. Cooler than me.”

Eduardo drinks more than he eats, Sean is a giant pain in the ass, and then he’s blissfully free from this draining evening. On the way to hotel, Mark is telling him that he “wants to end the party at 11” but Eduardo is too distracted by the way that Christy is draped all over him and the way that Mark is not.

He tries to open the car door when they’re stopped at a light. He yells to Mark but he can’t hear him, he just ignores him. Eduardo tugs and tugs and-]

[erased]

At the lounge things are going well with Christy, and then they're thundering into the bathroom, and she's all over him; this kind of thing never happens to him. He hears Mark and Alice come in too, and he can't believe what's happening to him - them. Christy sinks to her knees and pulls his cock out, her red mouth around him, and he can't look down or he will come immediately. He hears Mark laugh, weird, low, and he hears what must be Alice's palm against Mark's dick.

Now he's not safe anywhere, he can't look or see - "Mark," he chokes out.

"Yeah," Mark pants back.

"Wish it was me. Wish it was you. You know?"

"I know," he gasps. "I'm imagining it's you."

He closes his eyes, his head tipped back, and thinks of Mark's pink mouth, those dexterous hands.

He comes, hard, and Christy swallows, looking up with eyes bright.

After, Mark goes over to Erica and doesn't apologize because he doesn't know how. What he can do is be spiteful and he does it so well. Back at the dorm he plans moves forward.

His biggest contribution is to suggest Stanford be added to the expansion list - it's time they saw this in Palo Alto.

Eduardo is always happy to take credit for Facebook - who knows where they'd be without his meager seed dollars? What would the company be without its Bay Area home, a geographical connection that he himself first suggested? - but he knows the other side of the coin is he also contributed to his own downfall, and the entrance of Sean Parker. Without Sean they wouldn’t have grown, but it doesn’t make it any more palatable.]

[erased]

[They sit in the Bill Gates lecture, Mark there because Mr. Gates is a visionary and a rebel, and Eduardo because Mr. Gates is a business icon. Also because Mark asked him to go.

But Eduardo is a little bored and looking for a distraction, and finds it in Christy Lee, who asks if that's Mark Zuckerberg and suggests that they get a drink later. "Facebook me," she says.

‘Facebook me,’ Eduardo thinks with a smile, a time of simplicity, when the site could get him laid and not make him depressed.

They get back to Kirkland and drink beer and he presses for monetization. Mark throws a bottle cap and he ducks it with a swing of his hips, something that usually gets him mocked for his Brazilian upbringing, but tonight there are other things on both of their minds - Facebook, mostly, and girls.

He finds the cease and desist letter by accident, and he’s enraged and scared, and he raises his voice.

When Mark talks about the letter and who's in trouble he says "I" and not "we." It hurts to hear it again.

“If there’s something wrong - if there’s ever anything wrong - you can tell me. I’m the guy that wants to help. This is our thing,” Eduardo says.]

[erased]

[He waits outside Mark's door for around an hour, scribbling an aggressive note on the whiteboard around the 30 minute mark. He flips through his phone: an email from his mother asking him to call, his cousin is coming up to look at schools, can he crash with him, a group email from Dustin regarding his newest crush.

Mark comes thundering up the stairs past him, sputtering his new idea as he writes the code. It comes out as "Interested in" and “Relationship Status,” new fields for the profile, which Mark defines as, "Are you having sex or aren't you?"

Eduardo doesn't know why, but that makes him really nervous. 

He knows now.

He tries to cover his tracks with saying something crass, about getting laid, and then it's ready, it's done. Mark wants to spread the word and wants the Phoenix listserv address, and though Eduardo initially resists, he easily folds.

He reminds himself that this is why he needs him gone - he can't say no.

It's live, and then Mark is praying, and Eduardo manages pulls him out, and then they're drinking at Charlie's Kitchen. It’s not exactly his scene, but then again this isn’t a solo celebration; it’s for both of them. They drink four beers each, enough to go to their heads.

”This is good,” Eduardo slurs, happy. “This was a good night.” He looks around because the crowd in the bar seems to be thinning every time he looks up from his drink. When he looks up again, Mark is gone. Eduardo’s head whips around. He’s alone in the bar and the tables are disappearing fast. “Mark?”

He gets to his feet, pushing his chair over as he goes, too fast, and he yells, “Mark!” He searches the bar and is about to head outside when he turns around, and there’s Mark.

“Oh, hey, Wardo,” he says casually and Eduardo grabs him, hugs him too tight. “Jesus, Wardo, let me breathe.”

“We have to run,” he says, and Mark looks at him incredulously, but then Eduardo’s not looking anymore, he’s grabbing Mark’s hand and running out of Charlie’s, down the street.

“What are we doing?” Mark asks.

“I can’t - I can’t lose you,” he calls out behind him, scared, and they keep going. They turn a corner and it’s extraordinarily warm, and suddenly sunny, and they’re in the courtyard of his family’s home in Brazil. He looks down and he’s in swim trunks and a nice t-shirt, and Mark’s - actually dressed exactly the same: cargo shorts, t-shirt, sweatshirt. He doesn’t drop Mark’s hand as they wind into the house and up the stairs and to his room. He finally releases Mark and looks around at the walls. “This is the summer before I met you.”

Mark appraises him. “You look young. And less complicated.”

Eduardo blinks and he’s in the memory, of jerking off and thinking about men he’d seen on the beach and the ones streaming through their home who were doing business with his dad.

Mark is in bed with him. “I think you wanted me to see your cock.”

Eduardo is noncommital as he pumps his cock, but yes, he did.

They hear echoing voices, as if booming from above. “Where the fuck is he, Don?” they hear, tinny. “Sonali, relax, I got this. In fact, wait-”

Eduardo’s still hard and leaking, and then Mark is gone. He turns over, his dick trapped against the mattress, and he groans loudly into the pillow.]

[erased]

[He's so drunk when he rolls into Mark's room, just - so drunk. He smiles at him lopsidedly. "Hi Mark. Maaaark. Marky Mark. Did you have Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch? We did, his music was all over the place, my cousins loved. Loved it." Mark looks at him blankly, then curiously, and then, for a brief flicker, fondly.

Now, no longer drunk, he tells Mark that the first time he was aware of having an erection was when he saw Mark Wahlberg's Calvin Klein ad. It makes Mark smile.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” He asks.

“No,” Mark says too quickly, and goes back to coding.

”You were,” Eduardo insists. “I was,” Mark admits. Eduardo approaches his desk and fingers the material at his shoulder. Mark stops typing and they share a brief look before the lights starts to dim. Eduardo looks around. “We gotta-” he says and then pulls Mark out of his chair and with him out of the room, down the hall, down the stairs. He looks around and sees whole trees disappearing in front of them, and thinks hard. “I don’t know - I don’t know where -”

“Somewhere deep,” Mark says. Eduardo thinks hard. They cross the threshold and it’s hot. He blinks and they’re in Brazil again, but now he’s small and so’s Mark, younger and two feet shorter.

“Whoa,” he says, but then he’s being dragged to his room by his father, who’s furious and cursing in Portuguese. Mark runs along behind them. When they reach his bedroom, his father seats him on the bed and bends forward, his face red, still angry. He calls him baixinho and tells him to be smart, not stupid. He has to be careful, he says, and he shakes Eduardo by his shoulders. Eduardo is crying.

Mark, all of three feet tall, steps forward and yells at his dad, but Eduardo’s father brushes him off and leaves.

Eduardo can’t stop crying, sniffling, or his heaving breaths, and Mark holds his hand. When he can breathe clearly, he explains, “My dad had a lot of money, and he was really successful, and my name was on a list of kids to try and kidnap. He and my mom were scared, and I wandered away from the yard, and-”

“He didn’t have to yell at you,” Mark says impatiently. “You were just a little kid.”

He likes Mark like this, small but still feisty and fearless. He nods his head in acknowledgment and they sit close, their legs and sides touching. Mark puts an arm around Eduardo and he leans even closer. His breathing is finally normal and regulated.

“I don’t understand,” he hears booming from above.

“It’s them,” Eduardo says, scared.

“I don’t understand,” the voice says again. “How is he all the way-”

Before Eduardo can do anything, his arm drops, falls fast, because Mark is gone in less than an instant. His chin falls to his chest.]

[erased]

[He gets his notice that he made the second cut and goes to Mark almost immediately, so excited, and Mark can’t be bothered with him, too busy with thefacebook and being jealous.

This hurts like hell.]

[erased]

[He’s in that stupid straw hat and stupid Hawaiian shirt that he’d worn to the Caribbean night party because he thought it would be funny, and he ended up looking like a giant dork. When Mark shows up he dances over to him.

And suddenly it clicks: “Why am I so desperate for your attention?” Eduardo asks rhetorically.

Mark brings him outside and gifts him with the idea that will change their lives. Eduardo supports him and says, “Let’s do it,” because it’s a good idea and because Mark wants to do something with him, which is - just - he might be cold from the weather but he’s warm all over too from Mark. It’s embarrassing, but it’s true, to have all that attention on him, wanting to share this. He wants to hug Mark, feel his body against his, but he knows that would cross the line that they shouldn’t even acknowledge.

As he leaves, Mark says, “It probably was a diversity thing but so what?”

Eduardo looks up from the bottom of the stairs.

”Did you really think about a way to screw me then? I thought it, I was convinced, but I never-”

“No, idiot,” Mark says plainly. “I was upset. I didn’t want you to outgrow me.”

“I wouldn’t have, Mark, I swear. I wanted to share it with you because I wanted-” Eduardo stops himself and then launches towards Mark and the wall, stopping short of pressing against him. “I always wanted you to know everything about me.” He tilts his head up and looks into Mark’s eyes. They shine back. “And then you ruined it. Hard.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says quietly. “I was jealous. Very and ... unreasonably jealous.”

“You can make it up to me now,” Eduardo says, his eyes falling to Mark’s lips.

The light goes out at the stairs, and his eyes dart to its sudden absence.]

[erased]

[He leaves his dorm at 1:55 am as soon as he sees Mark’s blog. He doesn’t know why he goes, or how he gets there so fast, but he’s clothed and dashing across campus. He arrives and Mark is at his desk, Dustin on the bed, and Mark tells Eduardo that he needs him.

“I’m here for you,” he answers.

”I really wanted you to kiss me,” he says. “Will you do it now?”

Mark nods, and stands. He swings around the corner of his desk and puts one hand to Eduardo’s hip, and one to his cheek. He nudges him down, and brushes his lips softly against his. Mark presses harder and Eduardo’s sure that he’ll pass out. The kiss grows wet, hot, and Eduardo presses his tongue inside.

“Okay,” he says breathless. Mark smiles and sits back down.

He gives him the algorithm. Mark crashes the network.]

[erased]

[They take the train to Mark’s parents house for Thanksgiving and as they sit he watches the memories go streaming by - Thanksgiving, watching TV, studying, walking around, the first time they got drunk together.

Mark turns to him and says, “Are you ready?”

Eduardo turns towards him and says, “Ready for -”]

[erased]

[And then they're off the train and at an AEPi party, dark and dingy, tape peeling off the walls, a fan blowing noisily, ineffective in the corner. Eduardo meets Dustin first, then Dustin introduces him to Mark.

Eduardo sticks out his hand and Mark looks at him strangely. “Eduardo,” he says. When he’s greeted with silence, he says, “I'm Brazilian. And Jewish?”

Mark nods.

“And you are?”

“Mark. American Jew.”

Eduardo laughs and Mark looks pleased, like he's always expecting people to laugh and they never do, and he's glad he found someone who did. They sit and talk, banged up metal folding chairs shaking every time Eduardo laughs.

And then Mark is saying, “It’s done, Eduardo.”

“No,” Eduardo says, but it is and he knows it because they’re at the beginning. It feels like a thousand years ago that he began this erasure procedure, and it feels light years away that he actually experienced this in the flesh, meeting Mark. He feels very old and very tired. And desperate. He reaches for Mark’s hand and squeezes.

The crowd starts to fade out slowly, one by one, and what’s left when they’re gone is only open, void space. “Let's just-”

“What?”

“I don't know, I don't know. I was just in so much pain, I had to - do something.” He’s freaking out, his panic level rising because he’s about to lose Mark all over again. It’s what he wanted - he couldn’t live with the soul-sucking pain of betrayal, of feeling like he’d only won in a monetary sense but lost in every other - but now the prospect of a whole life without him is just too much to bear. 

“Well, you did. Now what?”

Eduardo shakes his head. Even the Mark in his head is infuriating. He scrubs one hand over his eyes as the exhaustion of this whole thing sets in. He looks at Mark, knowing that he’s never been this bare in his entire life. “I don't know. I'm terrified to … that you’ll be gone. I’ll never know you again.”

“So do this,” Mark says, “take your trip and then come back. Come back … to me.”

“How am I going to remember that?”

“Just try, Jesus, can't you just do what I ask?”

The space is now blank white and the walls start to crumble.

“Mark, kiss me again,” Eduardo requests, his voice loud over the noise. Mark does, and it’s sweet, all light. “Tell me you love me.” Mark smiles as he says it, genuinely, warmly, and Eduardo wishes he could hold this tight, even as it all falls apart.

Everything crumbles around him and Eduardo starts screaming, to be heard, to keep this. He grasps for Mark but he’s gone. And Eduardo is alone.]

[ERASED]

He wakes up with a headache, like he's very hungover but also still a little drunk. His mouth is dry and his apartment is boxed up. For a second he's disoriented but he gives himself a little time to blink, breathe, and wake up. When his head feels a little clearer, he sits up. He opens the blinds and looks out onto this very grey day.

He plays his voicemail. It’s Ted, reminding him of their flight, the time, and what to bring. It’s oddly mothering, but helpful, since he feels out of sorts, a little scatterbrained.

He showers quickly, and goes out to grab a coffee and a bagel with lox. With time to spare after packing, he briefly logs into Facebook and updates his status.

Eduardo Saverin is off on his trip. Will post pictures when I have them! Wish me luck!

His car arrives, and then he’s gone.

/end.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: [myownremedy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/myownremedy) deserves much credit for encouraging me to pick this over another fic, and for beta-ing without being asked because she's good like that. [extrathursday](http://extrathursday.livejournal.com) \- I can't say enough nice things about her. For stepping up at the last minute with her superior ninja editing skillz, for being patient, for being smart about grammer and feelings, and putting up with many conversations about formatting.
> 
> To the lovely artists: [thisissirius](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius), [elipie](http://elipie.livejournal.com), and [savetomorrow](http://savetomorrow.livejournal.com). I've never done a bb before, but it was amazing to see my work manifested in such gorgeous art. I feel lucky and privileged! Thanks yall!


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